Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series)

by Melissa Brown

  “Hey, man,” Porter said, sliding into the booth of the diner down the street from the station, pulling me from Aspen-induced anxiety. She and her kids were all I could think about. This was the place we met every so often for a cup of coffee, the best cream-cheese-stuffed french toast in town, and a favor or two. In the early days of our friendship, most of the favors were requested from Porter’s side of the booth, but not this time.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I said, reaching across the table to shake his hand. “It’s been a while.”

  “It has.” Porter ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and signaled for the waitress to bring him some coffee. “Sorry, just woke up, haven’t had my coffee yet.”

  “I get it. I’m a zombie without it—can’t even leave the house until it’s kicked in.”

  Porter nodded, his lips pressed together in an understanding smile. The waitress greeted Porter and poured him a tall cup of steaming coffee.

  “Don’t go far, okay? He’ll polish that off in seconds,” I teased.

  Porter laughed before blowing on the billowing steam of his cup. “Touché.”

  She nodded, offered a playful salute, and walked back to the counter, leaving us alone and giving me the opportunity to broach the topic of the compound with Porter. I knew he hated going back there, but I had to help Aspen any way I could and, aside from her, Porter was my gateway to that world.

  “So, I know how much you hate discussing this, but—”

  Porter waved me away. “Fuck that. How’s Aspen?”

  No wonder he and Jesse got along so well, neither one of them minced words.

  “Not good.”

  Porter’s shoulders sank. “Shit.”

  I shifted in my seat and tapped my fingers against the wood of the table. My anxiety over Aspen was overwhelming. “Has your wife heard from her?”

  “No, not for a few weeks. She’s worried sick, man.” He took a sip of his coffee. “What about you?”

  “It’s a long story, but she uncovered some really messed-up shit, Porter. We think we know what’s going on, but it’s not entirely clear. I was hoping you might help me make sense out of it.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He nodded. “What’s going on?”

  “She snuck into the temple and found . . . well, she found a lot more than we’d expected her to find.”

  I relayed everything Aspen had found in the temple: the ledger, the bed with plastic sheets, the fucking duct tape. His skin turned a murky shade of grey and he sank into the booth.

  “Someone’s being abused, but we don’t know for sure. His wives? The girls he plans to marry? We just don’t know. My gut says it’s children . . . they’re the easiest to keep under his thumb . . . the easiest to convince it’s for their own good.”

  Porter sneered and leaned forward, gripping his cup and staring down at the table. His knuckles turned pale as he clutched the white ceramic. He said nothing. I could only imagine he was thinking about all the sisters he left behind in his family, all the innocent lives that were vulnerable to the prophet’s abuse, and again I felt guilty for dragging him into something he’d tried to escape for years. But could he ever really escape the compound?

  “You all right, man? I’m sorry to bring you into this, really I am. I just—”

  “No, it’s fine. I just . . . I feel so powerless.” He cleared his throat. “And that fucking prophet. He’s just . . . he’s evil, ya know? And yet, they follow him blindly. It’s baffling.”

  “Diabolical,” I agreed. “The control he has over thousands of lives is alarming, especially now that Aspen has uncovered this . . . business of his.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Back on the compound. She couldn’t leave her kids.”

  Porter’s cheeks reddened as he leaned over the table. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because he knows.”

  Porter’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “What?”

  “She left her phone at the temple and he called me. That fucker just breathed into the phone, letting us know he was onto us.”

  “Holy fuck.” He sat for a moment, staring off into space. “We have to get them, Cooke. They aren’t safe there.”

  “I know, I’ve begged her to leave, but she won’t go. She won’t turn her back on her faith.”

  “Then we have to convince her. She can go back when it’s safe.”

  “Will it ever be?” I asked, knowing even if Clarence Black was locked away, someone else would rise to power and take his place. The cycle of mind control and abuse would inevitably continue right where it left off. Aspen would be trapped no matter what.

  Porter ignored my question, seemingly lost in his own thoughts of rescuing Aspen and her children. “Maybe she’ll listen to Brin.”

  “Problem is, the prophet has her phone. There’s no way to reach her without going there—and putting her in more jeopardy.”

  He drained his cup and slammed it back on the saucer, cracking the fragile ceramic. “Fuck.”

  “I was hoping you might remember something from when you lived there. If any of the girls, you know, said something or acted strangely. We have no idea how long this has been going on.”

  He stared at me in silence, then swallowed hard, shaking his head and breaking eye contact. “No, not that I can remember. Sorry, man, I-I was pretty wrapped up in myself back then. It makes me sick to think of all those poor kids.”

  “It could be his wives. We don’t know yet.”

  Porter nodded, licking his lips. “One of my sisters is married to the prophet. She married him just a couple months before I got kicked out,” he said softly.

  “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “No matter what, odds are someone I loved has been in that room, right?”

  “Right.” I pulled my bottom lip in with my teeth. “I just hate to drag you back there, man.”

  “Don’t censor yourself, it’s fine. I’m fine.” His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen. Porter then inspected the cracked saucer and scooted to the edge of the booth. “Listen, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I gotta run. I’m needed on site and if I’m not there soon, my boss’ll kick my ass.”

  He rose to his feet and gestured to our cups of coffee. “I’ll take care of this.”

  I waved him away, knowing I planned to stay for an order of french toast. “Nah, I got it.”

  He shook his head and laughed uncomfortably. “I gotta pay for that damn saucer anyway.”

  I slid from the booth and stood opposite him, extending my hand. “I got it, kid. Thanks for coming.”

  He nodded, patting me on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. If you get word on Aspen, text me, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  The bell of the door rang as he left the building. Our waitress returned with a fresh pot of coffee. “Where’d your friend go? I had a batch made special.”

  “Sorry, darlin,’ but he had to run. I’ll take a fresh cup, though, and an order of blueberry-stuffed french toast, please.”

  “You got it.”

  My thoughts returned to Aspen, and I checked my phone five times before my breakfast arrived. Word from her couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter 4

  Aspen was restless, anxiety-ridden and worst of all, without the opportunity to call Jonathan, completely exposed and vulnerable. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks since Pennie left her phone at the house. Since then, there’d been no opportunities, and although she may have been paranoid, Aspen was convinced everyone in her household was watching her—waiting for her to crack, to expose her intentions toward the prophet. Her sister wives were biding their time—waiting for an opportunity.

  Fools. That will never happen.

  True, in the three Sundays on the compound since discovering his crimes, she wanted nothing more than to grab his microphone and proclaim his savagery to the community at large. To scream of his abuse, to whoop and holler and demand the church elders follow her upstairs to his chamber of
horrors. But she was too smart for such impulsive behavior, and that would be nothing but a fool’s errand. The prophet would humiliate her in front of the congregation and leave her a pariah within the entire community. Those church elders would let her beg at their feet, scoffing at the stupidity of a silly woman.

  And she couldn’t let that happen.

  Never.

  No. She would make Clarence Black pay. She just didn’t know quite how. For that piece of the puzzle relied upon Detective Cooke, and under Flora’s and Paul’s watchful eyes, she’d barely had the opportunity to take her children to the park, let alone sneak away for a visit to the police station.

  Paul. Paul. Paul.

  If ever a human being caused her emotional turmoil, it was the man who formerly called himself her husband. Since he severed his vows and declared that she was no longer his wife, she could no longer look him in the eye, which was new to her. Both mortified and angry when in his presence, Aspen found herself in constant conflict. Despite his acrimony, she knew he still loved her . . . somewhere tucked beneath his fury. She’d noticed it in the shy glances he stole during dinner and in the way his footsteps slowed when he passed by her room at night. Never did he enter, but just the sight of her door gave him pause. She knew it in her gut. However, that didn’t matter. Not only had he abandoned her when she needed him the most, but he trusted the evil that was Clarence Black more than he trusted her. How could she ever forgive that? And if she could forgive, could she ever truly forget?

  No, Aspen, you cannot.

  Isolated and confined, Aspen chose to learn the art of knitting from Pennie. Together, they sat on the front steps of their home, working on sweaters for the coming winter, per Flora’s request. Aspen had hoped to volunteer to visit the fabric store to choose the yarn since she’d estimated the store was five blocks from the police station. Perhaps she could sneak away to see Jonathan. With a snide rolling of her deep-set eyes, Flora shook her head and insisted she and she alone would select the yarn.

  Knit one, purl two.

  Aside from knowing where her children were at every waking hour of each day, knitting was the only thing that brought her solace, and so she hung on every word Pennie had to offer when it came to their lessons. The tiny baby-blue sweater for Jeremiah was coming together nicely. In fact, she was quite proud of her ability to learn so quickly.

  Their needles clinked softly as the women sat in silence, watching Jeremiah and Ronan play fetch with Scout. With each toss of his tennis ball, Scout would bounce to the edge of the yard, scoop up the ball, and drop it covered in slobber in front of Jeremiah’s feet. And when that happened, Jeremiah and Ronan would dive for the ball, giggling and squealing as they fought over the soaked ball. The winner would toss the ball, and the game would start all over again. Jeremiah’s squeals of delight pulled at the corners of Aspen’s mouth as she studied the dangling yarn hanging against her knees.

  “It’s nice to see your smile,” Pennie said, her words soft. Things had been different between Aspen and her only ally. She wasn’t sure if she could trust Pennie after catching her in spy mode, and their relationship had been strained ever since. Aspen fought the desire to rekindle their friendship. She would knit with Pennie, complete family chores with her, but that was it. Nothing more.

  “I’m not sure what to say to that.” She shrugged, focusing on her yarn, squinting beneath the afternoon sun.

  “It’s nice, that’s all. I know you’re unhappy about Ruthie.”

  “I don’t care to discuss it.”

  “Aspen, please . . . what can I do? How can I convince you to let me back in?”

  Aspen paused, lowering her knitting needles to rest against her tense thighs. “You were never in to begin with.”

  Pennie gasped and her lower lip quivered. Aspen glanced in her direction, just in time to see Pennie scoop her knitting needles, drop them in her canvas bag, and run inside their home. She pressed her eyes tight, knowing that was a lie. Harsh words meant to harm.

  What have I become?

  She sighed, prepared to rustle up the boys and retreat into the home, convinced it would be necessary to mend fences with the only sister wife who attempted to be friendly. The trouble was, she could no longer trust that warmth, that kindness Pennie exuded. For all Aspen knew, she was simply gathering information for the prophet.

  “Jeremiah,” she called, rising to her feet. And then she saw her . . . Holly Black, approaching the front gate. She hadn’t spoken to Holly in months, not since the prophet demanded his wife leave the temple after causing a scene. Aspen and Holly had shared a brief conversation regarding her hesitancy to allow Ruthie to marry so young. She’d felt a kinship with the self-proclaimed black sheep of Clarence’s household, but since that day they’d shared nothing more than half smiles across the pews of the temple.

  Aspen rose to her feet, glancing back at the boys rolling in the grass, tugging the ball away from Scout. Holly stood before the gate, stray hair falling in front of her eyes. She pushed the strands away and greeted Aspen with a smile.

  “Hello, Aspen.”

  “It’s nice to see you,” Aspen said, opening the gate and glancing around to see if they were being watched. All was calm and quiet, but that meant nothing.

  You can’t trust anyone. Not even Holly.

  “You look tired, Holly. Are you all right?”

  Holly pushed the stray hairs off her forehead once again, but they refused to stay put. Her cheeks turned a warm shade of rose.

  “Yes, I’m sorry for my appearance. You must think I’m downright slovenly.”

  “No, of course not, I—”

  “I’ve been in the laundry all day . . . and it’s hot down there, with over a dozen washers going at once.” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Anyway, I don’t mean to complain.”

  “It’s fine.” Aspen paused, raising both eyebrows. “Is there something I can help you with? Are you here to see Flora?”

  It was common for Janine, the first wife of Clarence, to send the younger wives to relay messages to the first wives of other priesthood members. Many of the first wives sent the rest of the wives on errands such as this—just to assert their power, just to let the other wives know who was really in charge.

  “No, um . . .” She dug a hand into her deep pocket. “My husband sent me.”

  The air in Aspen’s lungs deflated.

  Clarence sent her . . . stay calm, Aspen. Whatever you do, stay calm.

  Aspen knew how to appear impervious. She kept her shoulders back, her forehead high. “Oh?”

  “I know. I was just as surprised as you are. He barely speaks to me these days.” She laughed nervously then paused, bit her lip, and tilted her forehead down, looking at Aspen with conflicted eyes. Aspen said nothing in response, although she knew there had to be a reason he sent Holly, rather than someone in his good graces. There was always a reason when it came to Clarence Black. Always.

  Holly cleared her throat and pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “Anyway, he asked me to give this to you.”

  My phone!

  Holly placed it in Aspen’s open palm. Aspen, again, coached herself not to show any evidence of excitement, even though pure elation swept through every inch of her tiny body.

  Holly shrugged. “He said you left it at the temple.”

  Aspen cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes, indeed, I did . . . at services, I believe. It must have fallen from my pocket. Silly me.”

  Relief crossed Holly’s pale face. “Oh, well, that’s good . . . that he found it.”

  “It is. Please give him my thanks.”

  And tell him he’ll burn for all eternity.

  “Of course.” She closed her eyes tight, shaking her head briskly. “I almost forgot. He sent this for you, as well.”

  From her other pocket, Holly retrieved a small envelope and handed it to Aspen. Aspen’s heart pounded beneath her thick cotton dress, and suddenly the heat of the sun scorched her neck, the Arizona air dried the
back of her throat. A note from Clarence . . . her instincts took over, insisting she glance back at the boys, even though she could hear their blithe giggles and squeals. She thanked Holly, pressing her hand against the gate as an unspoken message for her visitor to take her leave.

  Leave me be so I can read. I will not do it in front of you, no matter how long you might stand in my presence.

  Holly sighed as she glanced at Aspen’s body language. “Well, I should be going.”

  “Yes, thank you for dropping by and returning my phone. I’d better take it inside and charge it.”

  “Oh, it’s fully charged.”

  Aspen tipped her head to the side, surprised. She’d left her phone at the temple more than a month prior.

  Stupid woman, he’s used it. He’s checked your search history, your phone logs . . . everything.

  Keeping her composure, she offered a polite smile. “Well, that was thoughtful of the prophet.”

  “Thoughtful?” Holly asked with a sardonic laugh. “You and I both know better than that.”

  Aspen swallowed hard, narrowing her eyes at her visitor, but she refused to respond. She ignored Holly’s words, despite her building desire for solidarity with one single person on the compound. How she longed to stop being an island within herself. She stared at Holly for a brief moment, then closed the gate and turned away. She caught a glimpse of Holly shaking her head in the background.

  I don’t know if I can trust you, Holly. Forgive me.

  Aspen placed the phone and envelope into her pocket with trembling fingers. Within seconds, she’d scooped up both boys, ushering them inside. Once they were happily wrestling in the common area under the watchful eye of her sister wife Sarah, Aspen quickened her steps to reach the sanctuary of her bedroom.

  When she opened the door, however, she found Ruthie slumped over her desk and digging through her belongings. Her personal, private things. So intent on her deviant behavior, her eldest daughter didn’t even notice her presence. Aspen cleared her throat and Ruthie jumped, placing a hand over her heart.